Clash
by Lethe Seraph
Summary: WARNING: The author myself was under the influence of Fruits Basket and various other shoujo sap when she wrote this chapter. Proceed with caution. Read diluted with water, at least a 3:1 ratio... [discontinued]
1. One

            **Clash**

            by Lethe Seraph

            **Chapter One: Endless**

-----

            I hope this isn't too out of character.  It's probably not even canon… ::sweatdrops:: I hope you can bear with me…. 

            This story is based on a roleplay I participate in.  ^^;; Huggles to all.  Please review.

            -----

            _love not returned_

_            wings unable to fly_

_            pain without hope_

_            kept hidden inside_

            I wasn't sure, really, why it had started.  We just hated each other from the beginning.  Maybe it was our egos, how we both always had to emerge dominant.  I wanted vengeance; he wanted to rule the world.  Both would require victory.  And neither of us would let the other succeed.

            Yet we never seemed to stray from each other.  Everywhere I went, I would find him, and vice versa.  We would always fight, but never win.

            We were at a stalemate.

            Day after day, I would challenge him, or he would challenge me, and we would go about the same old business – day after day.  Always the same.

            He was a part of my life, my constant enemy, archrival, foe.  I was dependent on him, and he on me, for the excitement that made it worth living.

_            it's strange, this life_

_            you're never far_

            _rarely apart, yet_

_ hardly together_

            _It's just the way things are._

            I didn't think about it, though.  It was just one of those things I took for granted.  It was an ordinary thing, almost subconscious.  I would fight with him, but did it matter?  He would always be there, and so would I.

            But…

            Somewhere down that line, my feelings started changing.

            Why?

            Nothing was different. 

            Was it?

            ---

            "Damn you!  Why can't you just die?"

            "I'm already dead, idiot."  The thief smirked evilly, drawing a knife from a hidden pocket.  "Shall we play?"

            "Your host isn't dead.  I can destroy you."

            "I doubt it, Malik-baka.  You're weak and stupid."

            Malik grinned.  He stepped closer to the white-haired boy.  "Is that the most original thing you could come up with?"

            "That I thought you would understand, yes," jibed Bakura.  Malik could just hear the little crowd going "Ohhhhhh…" in the background.

            Malik glanced around, reassuring himself of the lack of any authority figures lurking nearby, and grabbed Bakura's collar.  He yanked Bakura up a bit, bringing the thief to his eye level.  "Prepare to lose."

            He said it every day.  Not that it mattered.

            Bakura escaped his grasp quickly, and sidestepped when Malik lunged at him with the Millennium Rod unsheathed.  Ruby eyes glittered in satisfaction when his knife drew a line of blood from the other's sleeveless arm.

            Malik growled and charged again.  This time, Bakura was a bit slower in dodging.  Malik had managed to cut his shirt.

            "Damn.  And I liked this one, too," said Bakura.

            "I hope you don't like your pants, then."

            "You manage to make everything sound wrong.  Did you know that?"

            Malik grinned.  "You pervert.  You're just hearing them wrong."

            "My hearing is perfect," said Bakura with a smirk.  "Just like the rest of me."

            "Oh, really?"  Malik raised an eyebrow.  "I'll just have to check on that, won't I?"

            "Tch.  One would almost think you liked me…" said Bakura.  He laughed as Malik realized just what he had said.  "You comprehend things so slowly."

            Malik protested, face showing crimson through its tan.  "No, I don't!  I wasn't willing to reply to such a… a….ridiculous thought!"

            "I'm sure."

            "Don't doubt my intelligence, Thief," said Malik.  In a swift moment, he had stepped behind Bakura and pinned his arms to his back.  Malik drew his teeth across Bakura's exposed neck, and Bakura hissed.  "After all, I found an opening."

            What would this look like to anyone else? wondered Malik briefly.  Two boys, one holding the other close with his mouth on his neck.  

            Bakura lowered his head and chuckled in the way that only he could.  It made Malik feel as though Bakura knew something he didn't, like the white-haired boy really was superior in some way.  "So, Malik."

            Finally it dawned on Malik that the statement probably required a response.  "What?" 

            "Are you gay?"

            "WHAT?" yelled Malik.  Bakura took that moment to free his arms, elbow Malik in the stomach, and create a distance between them.

            Bakura grinned.  "Looks like I've found an opening, ne?"

            "Not funny," muttered Malik.  Bakura had been joking, then.  His heart had started pounding so quickly…

            Damn!  His stomach still hurt!

            "You'll pay for that one."  The tomb keeper's fingers tightened around the Millennium Rod.

            The tomb robber's grin widened.  "How, exactly?"

            "In blood."

            "Sounds fun," said Bakura nonchalantly.

            "I'm sure it does!" shouted Malik, rushing towards Bakura once again.

            It was a nimble dance they performed, neither growing weary.  

            Bakura leapt away from the thrust of the blade, and parried with his own.  The clash of metal on metal spurred both boys on, each vying for a victory.  Bakura's knife slid downwards – Malik laughed.  "You can't win."

            "Neither can you."

            Malik nodded.  "I can try."

            "As can I!"  Bakura forced Malik's blade back in a sudden burst of strength.

            Malik cursed.  A bead of sweat rolled down his cheek.

            He knocked Bakura's blade to the ground.

            Bakura looked down, amazed.  The point of Malik's Millennium Rod was touching the center of his shirt lightly.  Bakura's gaze traveled upwards slowly, to find the elated face of his enemy.

            "I could kill you now."

            "Yes, you could," said Bakura simply.

            But what would the point be?  Bakura was the only person worth fighting in the world – aside from Yugi, but the child wasn't willing.  There was no playful banter there, only open hatred and determination.  Though true that Bakura and Malik hated each other, and were both equally determined, they shared a sort of bond.  There was no other person like that.

            If Malik killed him, what would he do tomorrow?

            Bakura's gaze remained on his.  The ruby eyes were serious, piercing.

            What would he do, indeed.

            This was all there was.

            It was all he needed, really.

            Malik smiled as he made his decision.  He pressed the Rod a little bit deeper into Bakura's chest.  Ruby eyes widened in surprise, but no sound came.

            "Do you feel it?" said Malik.

            "Yes."  Bakura placed his hands on Malik's.  "Don't go slowly."

            Malik withdrew the Rod with one hand, but left the other in Bakura's.  "I'm not going to at all."

            The surprised eyes blinked.  "You really are something, Malik-baka."

            So are you.

            "What do you say we go get something to eat?  All of this fighting can wear a person out, you know."

            Bakura responded after a silence.  "Assuming you're paying."

            "Hey!  You're the Thief!"

            "I robbed dead people, genius," sighed Bakura.

            Malik rolled his eyes.  "Fine, I'll treat."

            Bakura looked at Malik expectantly.

            "What?"

            "Are you going to move your hand or what?"

            Malik blushed furiously and snapped the offending appendage away.  "Yes!  Yes, I am!  What are you waiting for?  Let's go!"

            "Sometimes I wonder about you…" 

            "Shut up.  Is ramen okay?"

            ---

            _it's strange, this life_

_            you're never far_

            _rarely apart, yet_

_ hardly together_

            _It's just the way things are._

            After that day, the two went out for ramen every day.  Aside from that, though, nothing had really changed.

            Except for the large metaphorical hole in Malik's wallet.

            For some reason, he didn't mind.

            It was just one of those things he took for granted.

            Until it changed.__


	2. Two

**Clash**

by Lethe Seraph

**Chapter Two: Motivations Differ**

         ----

         Listening to LOTR.  Ish fun. ^____^

         A big thank you and huggle to those who reviewed. ::rummages:: Oh, and plushies.  Of course I have to give out plushies… 

         ………..

         Uh, are Mako and Pegasus okay? ^_^;;

         ::runs off to restock::

         ----

         On a slightly more serious note….. -__- It's really scary when Malik's dub voice finds its way into my head while I'm writing this.  ::twitch::

         ----

         Love, huh?

         What is it, really?  

         People seem quite concerned with it.  They build their lives upon its foundation, and spend their lives in search of it.  They create, destroy, are grown from this feeling.  Stories and songs alike rhapsodize about 'love', to the point where I can't stand it any more.

         My vessel says upon occasion, when he's in one of his moods, that love is merely a byproduct of the human desire to reproduce.  It doesn't matter in the long run, and one would be better off to ignore it.

         Sometimes, the light is darker than I am.

         ---

         "Bakura residence," 

         "Hey.  It's me."

         "…Do I know y-" The boy's voice shifted suddenly.  "Malik."

         Malik grinned, even though Bakura couldn't see it.  "That would be me."

         "Why did you call me?"  His tone was dry.  _Get to the point already_, he said.  Malik sighed.  He never was one for small talk, unless it centered on him and his accomplishments.

         The blonde took on a high falsetto tone, taking Bakura's lack of humor on with a vengeance.  "Why, to see how you were, of course!  Why ever else, darling?"    

         He could hear Bakura twitching.

         "Did I kill you for the second time, or what?" said Malik.  "This does cost me money, you know."

         "Then get on with it, damn it!  Quit playing around!" said Bakura.  _Joy.  It's his I'm-three-steps-from-stringing-your-guts-out __voice…_

         "You're no fun, Thief…" said Malik.  "So, busy?"

         "It depends," said Bakura darkly.

         "Hungry?"

         "Perhaps."

         "Reservations for five thirty at the Chihoru, we're splitting the bill, I'll pick you up at five fifteen and hope you're not afraid of riding on motorcycles."

         "Don't be late," said Bakura.

         Click.

         "You know," shouted Malik over the rush of the wind, "I didn't think you were the sort of person who _would_ be afraid of riding on motorcycles!"

         "What makes you think I am?!" yelled Bakura in reply.  "I'm not exactly screaming my lungs out!"

         "No, but then, you _are_ about to squeeze mine out."

         Bakura glared at Malik's purple-clad back.  "Would you rather I fell off?"

         "Do you really want me to answer?"

         Bakura kept on glaring.  Maybe it would eventually start to burn.

         "You're glaring at my back, aren't you?"

         Bakura nearly fell off.

         "Here we are," said Malik briskly, hopping off of the bike with practiced ease.  Bakura followed in his own lithe way.

         Malik suppressed a sigh.  He had rather enjoyed the ride.

         …No, not like that!  He shook his head.  It was just fun bantering with the Thief.  

         He would never…

         A pair of fingers flicked at his forehead.  "Is anyone _in_ there?" said Bakura impatiently.  "It's almost five thirty."

         "…Right!" said Malik.

         Bakura walked in.

         Malik followed.

         "So," said Bakura with a shrug, once the two had been seated.  The waiters had eyed them rather strangely as they were shown to their table.  Malik preferred to think that it was because of his surpassing physical beauty; though their thoughts were most likely focused on the fact that two boys were going to a restaurant, alone, and one of them was wearing a very girly shirt.

         He liked the shirt.

         "So?"

         "What were you thinking about there?" said Bakura.  He picked up his soup spoon and twirled it through his fingers.  Malik watched them dance.  First and second finger, twirl once, twice, flip to third and fourth, now third and second, and then it's gone to the other hand!  How did he make it seem so graceful?  It was almost magical, the way the spoon disappeared and reappeared without any apparent effort.

         Bakura had said something, hadn't he?  Oh, yes.  He had wanted to know what Malik was thinking about.  Great.

         "Not much," said Malik.

         Bakura grinned.  That was when Malik realized he had just set himself up.  "That's what I figured."

         The real words were out of Malik's mouth before he realized the setup had itself been a setup.  "Actually, I _was _thinking.  I was thinking about how motorcycle rides are more fun when you're there."

         Whatever Bakura had been expecting, it wasn't that, as his fish-open mouth showed.

         "Oh, shut it," grumbled Malik.  "I didn't mean anything by it."

         Bakura recovered.  He seemed rather embarrassed.  "Of course not!  That's just stupid."

         "Is it really?"

         "Yeah," said Bakura flippantly.  Third and fourth finger, second and first.  First and fourth, back around and balancing on the knuckles.  He drew his hand away suddenly and it fell through the air into his fingers.  "You and I are rivals.  We're only on speaking terms because you have something I want."

         Damned if Malik wasn't blushing.  "Why do you do that?" he said, trying to bring the subject back upon more tolerable grounds.

         "Do what?"

         "That," said Malik as Bakura continued to play.  "With the spoon."

         "Why not?" said Bakura with a vocal shrug as his dessert fork joined the game.  "Keeps me in practice.  Gives me something to do while you're mentally undressing me."

         Malik spat out the water he had been sipping.  "Excuse me.  I must not have heard you correctly.  WHAT?"

         Bakura smirked, brushing water futilely away from his shirt with a napkin.  "You really are a sensitive soul, Malik.  I was _joking._  Jesting.  Would you like me to spell it out for you?"

         Malik recovered enough from the initial shock to make a comeback.  "You just wish I were, Thief."

         "You wish that I wish you were," replied Bakura.

         "Yeah?  Well, _you_ wish that I wish that you wish that I were… that you were… I was… um," finished Malik lamely.  "What are you going to order?"

         "I'm thinking about the steak," said Bakura.  He sighed.  "I don't think I can eat all of it, though.  The portions look quite large."  He turned the menu so it faced Malik, and pointed it out.  "See?"

         "Hm," said Malik.  

         _Should I ask?  Would it seem like I was coming onto him?  Because I don't want him to think that.  I don't like him at all!  Not one tiny bit, and that's why I invited him to this restaurant.  Gods… I suck._  _Well, I guess I could-_

         "What do you think?  Want to share?" suggested Bakura before Malik could speak. 

         The best Malik could come up with was a nod.

         Bakura's smirk grew.  _Yes!  Cheaper for me…_


	3. Three

**Clash**

by Lethe Seraph

**Chapter Three: Eat It!**

            -----

            Lethe is now listening to happy music.  ^_^ 

            "We are closer than brothers!  Now we have to fight each other!  Can we trust our fate to the heart of the cards…?"

            Fufufu.  ^_^ I love this kind of music.  But then I also like a bunch of other stuff.  Like Yanni.  And the Trans-Siberian Orchestra.  And Yoko Kanno!  Rain is a great song. :3 Thus ends Lethe's brief Music Chat.

            ---

            Lethe finished watching Robin Williams Live on Broadway today!  He is Lethe's favorite comedian. ^__^ That is a fact that always surprises Lethe's friends, because she is known to be rather unfond of vulgar language.  But he's so funny/clever!  And he was the Genie! ^__^

            A great big thank you to everyone who reviewed!  Would you like a plushie or a five-inch bendable figurine? 

            -----

            I don't know why, but lately I've been having strange dreams.

            I know that dreams are nothing more than random firings of memory…

            but sometimes I wonder.

            These dreams seem so real.

            A shadowed figure, hidden within a light-

            His eyes gleam crimson.

            He looks at me and my heart runs rapidly

            And I reach towards him.

            I don't know why 

            but I always reach out

            I want to bring him forth, and embrace this strange darkness…

            A darkness from which bright fire is born…

            ---

            A cold bead of sweat ran down the side of Malik's cheek, and he winced.  The time was ticking by slowly.  Very, _very slowly._

            And the steak still hadn't come.

            He was nervous, he knew that much.  But why?  Was he…

            No.  He wouldn't think about it.  He wouldn't think about it at all.  No way would he obsess over the fact that he was about to _share a meal with Bakura.  _No way, no how.  It wasn't like he cared.  It wasn't a plate of spaghetti or anything.  It wasn't like he _liked him.  Not at all.  _

            "You're sweating," pointed out Bakura helpfully.

            Malik twitched.

            "Here's your order, sirs," said the waiter politely, glancing at the two.  "I hope you'll enjoy it."

            "Oh, we will," said Bakura with a somewhat twisted smile.  Not that any of his smiles were ever straight.  Was anything about the Thief straight?  …No!  _NOT LIKE THAT!_  Malik gave himself a mental slap.  He figured he had just killed off a few brain cells, but then, it was better than drooling over a guy who could hardly be considered alive, let alone within twenty years of his age.  

            The waiter left, after giving Bakura and Malik an odd grin.  He seemed about their age – Malik's age, anyway.  Well, whatever.  Malik discarded the expired train of thought and started work on a pretty silver Chevy Cavalier.  "You moved to Domino a few years ago, right?  Do you like it better?"

            "Hm?  It's all right, I suppose."  His smile, twisted as it was, quirked amusedly.  "There are plenty of interesting mortals to play with."

            Malik put a hand to his face, feigning shock.  "You pervert!"

            Bakura laughed.  "You're the one who hangs out with the pervert.  What does that make you?"

            "The one who recognizes the pervert for what he is?"    

            It wasn't funny, but for some reason Bakura started chuckling.  And Malik couldn't help but join in.

            "All right," said Bakura.  "How are we going to do this?"

            "Huh?"

            "Well, we can split it in two if you want to make sure I'm not going to steal any of your half, or-"

            "We can just share," said Malik.  "If that's all right."

            Bakura grinned.  "Well, dig in," he said cheerfully, picking up his knife and fork. 

            "Okay…" said Malik, wincing at the nervous quaver in his voice.  He hoped that Bakura hadn't noticed.

            Then again… Bakura was a thief.  Wasn't it kind of required that he was really good at noticing things?

            …Aw, hell, he robbed _dead _people.  Centuries ago.  He couldn't have been too good.

            _He sounds kind of nervous, noted Bakura with a slight grin, as he chewed on a particularly juicy bit of steak.    _

            "Now what?" said Malik.  "Is there anything you want to talk about?"

            Bakura shrugged.  "Not really."

            "Oh."

            "You?"

            "Can't think of anything offhand.  That's why I asked you."

            "Do you want the red pill or the blue pill?"

            Malik rewarded Bakura with a confused stare.

            Bakura shook his head slowly.  He exhaled loudly.  "Some people just have no class…"

            "Like you, right?"

            "I'm in a class of my own," said Bakura.  He smirked.

            "Yeah… it encompasses insanity, depravity, stupidity, and egotisticity."

            "Ego-what?" laughed Bakura.

            "Egotisticity!" repeated Malik.  "I'm sure it's a word."

            "Oh, really?  If you really think so, then I could beat you at Scrabble any day."

            "What do you know, Thief?" said Malik.  "You've been in there for how long?"

            "Quite a while," said Bakura.

            "And how long have you been out?  How much modern Japanese have you actually learned?"

            "Enough to beat your sorry ass!" said Bakura.  His eye twitched; this did not go unnoticed by Malik.

            _Heh.__  I got him to say 'ass', thought Malik inanely.  He giggled._

            Bakura raised a pale eyebrow.  "Since when do you giggle?"

            "Since when do you curse?"

            "How long have you known me?"

            "You haven't cursed."

            "Do you actually listen to me?"

            Malik grinned.  "Probably not."

            Malik looked at Bakura.  

            Bakura looked at Malik.

            Malik and Bakura looked at each other.

            Slowly, they began leaning towards each other.

            They lifted their forks.

            "MINE!" they yelled, stabbing at the last piece.

            "Owww….." said Malik, pained; he retracted his hand and gave Bakura an injured look.  "You didn't have to hit me with your fork…"

            "Hey, I got what I wanted," said Bakura through his mouthful.

            Malik sighed.

            Bakura laughed.  "Well, if you want it now, I'll give it to you."

            Malik was about to respond with a "Wow!  You're nicer than I thought!", when he realized that it was _in Bakura's mouth.  Already-chewed-steak.  Ew._

            At that moment, he would have told Bakura, "No way.  That's just _sick_."

            Then he had another revelation: _It was in Bakura's mouth._

            His heart pounded.  It was now or never.  He wetted his lips nervously and spoke.  "Will you really?"

            Bakura blinked.  "You get your kicks in some really strange ways, Malik."  He plucked the piece of steak out of his mouth and held it out to Malik.

            Malik shook his head.  "No.  Put it back in."

            "Huh?"  For once, Bakura was at a loss for words, but he obliged.

            And then…


	4. Four

**Clash**

by Lethe Seraph

**Chapter Four: A Poet, To Be Sure**

**            --**

Sorry!  It's short, I know.  No worries, though! ^____^

            Many thanks to those who have reviewed!

            I shall make the next chapter longer.  I hope. -_-;;;;

            --

            How much do I know about him?  

            How much do I honestly know about anyone?

            Appearance, yes; I recall every detail –

            But then, that is my job.  I would be dead if I didn't have the memory I did… well, I would have died sooner, anyway.

            The child is a bound, breathing collection of paradoxes and illogicalities.  

            A life spent underground – smooth, tanned skin.

            Gleaming violet eyes lined with darkness.

            A burning desire to defeat me.

            Instead, he spared my life.

            How strangely the world works.

            If everyone were like him, all would cease to function underneath the weight of millions of conflictions.

            Not that I should comment; he learned it from me.

            -------

            _What am I doing? thought Malik as he leaned closer to Bakura.  Every second seemed to last an eternity.  Eternity, that is, being defined as 'the average length of time it would take a group of teenagers to notice that their friend has a strange tendency to switch personalities upon occasion'.  The last thing he remembered, Bakura had offered him his piece of steak…_

            Okay, so Malik knew what he was doing.  He was leaning forward.  He was nearly nose-to-nose with the millennia-dead tomb robber.  Who was, interestingly enough, a member of his gender.  He supposed the question really was:

            WHY was he doing this?!

            Then, as Malik drew yet closer, his mind ceased to produce coherent thought.

            Bakura raised an eyebrow.  There was a very strange expression apparent on Malik's face.  He wasn't glaring at Bakura, like he often did; nor was he smirking in foolish pride.  No, this was different.

            He wasn't smiling, or frowning, or crying…

            …but whatever it was, it drew him in all the same.

            That was when he realized just what Malik was about to do.

            _…Oh, shit._

            Five seconds passed, and then another five, and another.  Finally, Bakura pulled away; contact was broken.

            Strangely innocent violet eyes, hooded, drew back and regarded the one in front of them with a slow, roving gaze.  Then something found itself, and Malik snapped back into awareness.  "What have I…"  He brought a hand to his lips and touched them in disbelief, staring at Bakura all the while.  "Oh, no.  I didn't mean that.  Really, I didn't.  I, uh…" he babbled.

            Bakura's own lips twitched upward into a smirk.  He was rather more eloquent in his choice of words.  "You, Malik, are a wimp."

            He stared at Bakura.  "WHAT?"

            "You are," said Bakura.  "Don't bother denying it, Malik."

            "How am I a wimp?"  _And why aren't you mad? added Malik silently._

            The white-haired spirit shrugged.  "You actually accepted a dare, I assumed."

            Malik gaped.

            "Was I wrong, then?"  Bakura's smirk widened.  Malik now had two choices:

            One.  Deny Bakura's assumption and admit that he was indeed gay and in love with Bakura.  Which he didn't even think he was.

            Two.  Agree with Bakura, thus lying to uphold his already-shaky reputation and possibly protect the small friendship that had begun forming between them.

            Neither particularly thrilling, he thought, so his overworked mind produced a third.

            "Want dessert?"

            Bakura looked up from his menu, and cleared his throat.  Malik placed his own menu upon the table and met Bakura's eyes.  "What?"

            Bakura grinned.  "Feel like splitting a sundae?"

            "Sure."

            Now would be a good time to explain one fact: Malik was confused as hell.

            Or, rather, more confused than a saint who had found himself in hell.  A small, saintly saint, who had no reason at all to be in hell.  Although it was more the other way around than anything.  

            Why wasn't Bakura saying anything about _that_?  Did he really think that Malik would have accepted a dare of that sort?  From whom, besides?  How many people did Malik know?

            No.  He couldn't be that stupid.

            So…

            Bakura could just want to keep things the way they were, without comment.  That was probable.  

            But he seemed to be nudging Malik forward just a little bit.  He had offered twice, now, to share a meal with Malik, and even offered to give Malik steak – ignoring that it was already in his mouth.  This could mean nothing.  Malik didn't want to make a big deal out of it – he would feel quite a fool if he was wrong in that regard.

            What did Bakura think of him?

            Did he really want to know?

            _Maybe the most important question right now, thought Malik, _is about how I feel towards **him**.  __

            _Even I don't know._

            Strange, pale skin – soft – and hair yet paler.  Whiter than the wings of angels, he thought in a rare poetic moment.  Narrow, cunning – intelligent – eyes filled with deep crimson.  Blood, taken perhaps from those he had slain.

            A quick mind, to be sure, and reflexes to match; another spoon had woven its way through the boy's lithe fingers.  

            First and second, fourth and third.  First and fourth, now – hypnotizing, almost, pale fingers dancing to a soundless tune-

            Hell, next thing Malik knew he would be rhapsodizing at the poor thief.

            Heh.  'Poor thief'.  Interesting choice of words.

            Wasn't Bakura, though?  He didn't really have much binding him to the world, except for that obsession with the Millennium Items.

            That aside, though.

            He had nothing – no friends, no love…

            No love…

            Oh, gods.


	5. Five

**Clash**

by Lethe Seraph

**Chapter Five: No Chance, No Way!  I Won't Say I'm in Love!**

            -

            As always, many thanks and glomps to all of you who reviewed!  Maybe I should restock my plushie bin. ^_^

            Sorry it's been so long!  I've just been caught up in 1) Robotics work and lack of inspiration, 2) Trip to Fall – my new Jou/Seto fic – and 3) One Plus One!  If you read Demon Diary and like Raenef/Eclipse, then please read it! ^_^

            I hope you enjoy this chapter! …It's kind of (kind of?!) out-of-character, though. TT_TT

            -

            Why should I care?

            He's a thief, nothing more.  The only reason he spends time with me is because I have something he wants; he said it himself.

            That something is the Millennium Rod.

            I shouldn't feel this way.  To be honest, I'm not even sure what it is I feel.

            I want to scream – unsheathe the Rod, draw crimson from my arms because maybe it can put things into perspective, maybe I'll enjoy it-

            I want to shout – cry out, tell him that I feel for him, so that he can slap me or curse at me and I can feel a pain worse than the blood running in rivulets down my wounded flesh-

            I want to hold him close, push him away, never see him again but wrap him in my arms and stay with him forever; these are the feelings, the thoughts that run without words through my mind whenever I am near him.

            Why should I care?

            There's only one thing that he wants from me…

            …but I want to give him so much…

            -----

            "Here we are," said Malik after stopping the motorcycle.  Bakura slipped off and stood, for a moment, looking at Malik.

            "Are you going to go, or come in?" said Bakura when Malik hesitated to depart.  "The vessel's father isn't home."

            Malik blinked, but then grinned.  "No, I'll leave you be for now.  See you later, Thief."

            Bakura wouldn't have thought that Malik would say no.  After what had happened at the restaurant?  Dare or not, Malik had been acting oddly recently.  Bakura wanted to find out why.  It was in his nature, the curiosity and desire to seize anything that seemed worth taking, whether information or gold.  It was what made him who he was.

            The thief called after Malik.  "I insist."

            Malik turned back.  His eyes were confused now.  "Why?"

            Bakura smirked.  "I believe it's called 'hanging out', Malik-baka.  Have you ever tried?"

            "As a matter of fact, no," replied Malik.

            Bakura motioned for Malik to follow him.  "Then I'll show you.  Come," he said, and Malik didn't even think to argue. 

            "Oh, gods," breathed Malik silently as he walked down the path.  His heart was beating wildly at the thought of being with Bakura.  Alone.  Alone with Bakura – would they go to his room or remain in the living room?  Would it even matter?  The idea of being so near to that fair body… he didn't know whether he would be able to control himself.  Damn his rebellious hormones to hell!  …Although, if he did actually touch Bakura, that would be where the rest of him would go too.

            The white-haired boy-man-spirit looked back with a slight frown.  "Something wrong, Malik?"  
            _Yes!  Yes, there is something wrong, damn it!  I'm madly in love with you! _Malik shook off the pressing feelings and quickened his pace.  "Not at all."

            "All right, then."

            The door.  It seemed to Malik like an irreversible moment, when he stepped through the door – he had chosen to enter, and now could not turn back.  What would happen of it?  What if… 

            No.  He wouldn't.  It was a matter of pride now, to hold his tongue.

            _Not just your tongue,_ remarked a quiet smirking voice.

            He blushed and closed the door behind him.

            "So by 'hanging out', you meant…"

            "Yes," said Bakura.  "Doing absolutely nothing that could be considered intellectually stimulating.  Sitting on a couch, eating, and watching a flickering box.  Thrilling, the lives of teenagers these days, ne?"

            Malik inconspicuously (or so he thought) moved just a little bit closer to Bakura's side of the couch.  "It is rather enjoyable," he said.

            Bakura grinned at him.  "What, doing nothing intellectual?  You must enjoy yourself every moment of every day."

            "Hey!"  Malik grabbed a nearby pillow and began beating the former tomb robber about the head with it.

            "You set yourself up!" laughed Bakura, strangely unannoyed by Malik's ability to hit him – _him_! – with anything at all.  On the contrary, Bakura was bringing his arms up to block the bombardment of hits and scrambling back to find a pillow of his own.  Later, Malik would reflect that the two had actually been acting as … friends.  There was no menace in the competition that night; just the urge to have fun – brought about, perhaps, by the soda?  

            What was Bakura thinking?

            Malik would wonder at that, but later.  At this moment he was caught up in the game, trying to get in as many hits as possible before the other would retaliate.

            Moonwhite hair tangled about his face, Bakura snatched up a pillow and quickly forced Malik back.  

            "Augh!" cried Malik, deciding to resort to his last option – he tossed his own pillow aside and flung himself at Bakura, fingers jabbing at ribs.

            Caught by surprise, Bakura began laughing and squirming away.

            "You _are_ ticklish!" Malik grinned triumphantly, unrelenting in his new form of attack.

            Bakura wasn't about to give in, however.

            He ducked down – how had the two managed to remain on the couch all this time? – and began tickling Malik in return, taking advantage of the fact that the blonde's skin was significantly more exposed.  

            Malik began giggling uncontrollably; he was far more sensitive than Bakura and couldn't even manage to continue his assault on the other.  Bakura, encouraged by Malik's weakness, kept at it mercilessly.  To be fair, Malik _did_ try to escape, but didn't succeed.

            He ended up falling off of the couch – and dragging Bakura down with him.

            A hushed silence where there had been laughter.

            Malik looked, surprised, up into crimson eyes – his thoughts and heart became nearly uncontrollable, his body reacting to the close presence – he could feel Bakura breathing – 

            Bakura blinked once, but did not move.

            Why?  Malik was frozen underneath Bakura, barely able to process what had happened.  Why wasn't Bakura moving?

            The two were tangled together.  If anyone had walked in – oh, gods – it would have looked like they were …

            His thoughts flashed back to that first day, that fight.  What _had_ it looked like, when Malik had pressed his teeth to Bakura's neck…?  

            Come to think of it, Bakura had never really resisted any of his… advances, if they could be called that.  He had let Malik bite him, kiss him… told Malik to kill him quickly.  Why didn't Bakura fight?

            Did Bakura just think he wasn't worth the effort…?

            No.  That line of reasoning was complete nonsense.  But…

            Bakura still hadn't moved.

            What did he think of Malik now?  Now, on top of him, unmoving.  Surely Bakura had noticed, after all this time, how Malik honestly felt.

            Surely…

            "Malik," said Bakura quietly, and Malik was reminded again of how close the two were; his light breath tickled Malik's cheek.  

            His heart pounded.

            "That would be me."

            "Tell me."  Bright white hair looped and settled upon Malik's face as Bakura moved yet closer.  "Tell me why you…"  For once, the robber seemed unable to describe.

            "Why I…?" prompted Malik, heart still racing.  Would Bakura reject him if he knew?  Did Bakura already know?  

            What if he wasn't…?

            "Damn it," said Bakura, voice soft.  "I want to know why you act this way towards me."

            What could he do?!  

            "What way is that?" Malik attempted to remain composed, calm-voiced.  Was he being too obvious?  Could Bakura see through him?

            Could he…

            Malik gazed up into the confused blood-red irises, knowing that this could full well be the last time he would be able to see them so close.

            They drew closer.


	6. Six

**Clash**

by Lethe Seraph

**Chapter Six: Confessions to the Other**

            -

            Beware the run-on sentences and odd/overdone use of semicolons and commas. -_-;;

            But enjoy! ^_^ ::glomps::

            Sorry to end things with a semicliffie, but it was getting long and the night late…

            -

            How can I find out?

            How can I find out what is going through his head?

            Words are too flimsy, and his pride too strong; he will deny any questions I ask of him.  

            Only one way comes to my mind.

            Shall I use it?

            Of course.

            I am the tomb robber, after all.  

            If there is any opportunity, then it is there for my use.

            This way, I will obtain the answers I yearn for.

            He won't know what hit him.

            ------

            "Damn it," said Bakura, voice quiet, still in his strange suggestive position on top of Malik.  "I want to know why you act this way towards me."

            What could he do?!  

            "What way is that?" Malik attempted to remain composed, calm-voiced.  Was he being too obvious?  Could Bakura see through him?

            Could he…

            Malik gazed up into the confused blood-red irises, knowing that this could full well be the last time he would be able to see them so close.

            Suddenly, Bakura smirked, and Malik was brought out of his daze.  "What…?" he began, before-

            Bakura leaned down and kissed Malik.

            Stunned – was Bakura really kissing him? – Malik couldn't move.

            He memorized the sensation, so soft and demanding, yielding, sweet; painful in the confusion it brought; the yearning, hunger, sadness and impossibly overwhelming ecstatic joy for which there was no comparison – texture smooth, only slightly chapped, but that made the feeling so much more real…

            Malik's lips were brought apart by a forceful tongue, and his body finally reacted.

            He moaned softly and tangled his fingers in Bakura's hair, returning the kiss with all of his ability.

            It seemed to last forever, that kiss, and Malik would never forget the feeling.

            They finally broke apart.  With the loss of contact, Malik's senses returned to him, and his eyes grew wide.  "Bakura…. you…"

            "I…?" Bakura's lidded eyes were strangely seductive; Malik wanted to kiss him again.

            "You… kissed me," he managed through pounding heart and quickened breath.

            Bakura smirked again.  "So it wasn't just a dare, was it, Malik?"

            His breath caught in his throat.  What did it mean?  Bakura hadn't known?  Was that why…?

            "What do you mean?" said Malik faintly.

            "You kissed me back."

            "You started it," said Malik.  He sounded so childish.  He was a fool, wasn't he?

            "You didn't push me away," said Bakura plainly.  "You kissed me in the restaurant.  You spared my life."

            Well, if he hadn't figured it out before, he certainly had now.

            "Bakura, I… I wasn't… don't think…" he stammered – what was he doing?  He could confess now and be done with it.  He was so afraid…

            A strange smile touched upon his pale face.

            He reminded Malik of an angel… a fallen angel, perhaps – white hair, pale face, but spirit so entangled in shadow - "I wasn't, you know, I… just… caught up in the moment…" Dark, light, beautiful in simplicity – so complex, so confusing.  Why couldn't he just say it?

            "Malik," he said – Malik was thrown into even greater turmoil-joy-amazement at the use of his name – "just say it."

            "But…" said Malik.  His voice dropped to a whisper, overwhelmed.  "I don't know what your feelings are."

            Bakura touched his forehead to Malik's and sighed, looking directly into the violet eyes.  "You, Malik-baka, are afraid."

            "No, really?!" cried Malik, jumping to his feet.  "How can I not be afraid?!  I don't want to be alone, I don't want you to reject me, and here you are giving me that goddamned _look_ that makes me want to-"

            Bakura rose from his position on the floor to stand facing Malik.  He was silent.

            In that silence, Malik realized what he had said.  He buried his face in his hands.  "Gods… I am such a fool…"

            "You aren't," said Bakura.  "Just tell me everything.  Let it out."

            Malik swallowed, and looked at Bakura defiantly.  "Fine.  Do you really want to hear?"  _Do I want to know what you think?_

            "I do," he replied, brushing a strand of bright hair out of his face.  "Why else would I ask?"

            "Fine," repeated Malik.  "Bakura, tomb robber, spirit of the Millennium Ring…"

            His expression didn't change.  He just watched Malik, listening, even though it was completely obvious now.

            "Bakura, I am in love with you."

            A pale hand reached up to Malik's face-

            -and slapped him.

            It hurt.

            "Wha…?!"  Then Malik noticed.

            The boy's eyes… when had they changed?  

            "What are you doing in my house?" The voice.  Not the thief's.  It was too … polite.

            "I…" began Malik, searching his mind hastily for an explanation.  "Uh, I…"

            The innocent chocolate eyes widened in fear.  "Get out of my house."

            "Don't tell me you don't remember-"

            "Remember what?  I was at school…!"  Then something clicked, and the light sank to the carpet – the same spot where, a moment ago, his darker half had been probing the insides of Malik's mouth.  "You were with him," said the boy numbly.

            "I'm kind of… his friend," explained Malik.  "You know about him?"

            Ryou nodded.  "But it's hard… I can't remember… what happens when he takes over."

            Malik was curious.  "What's it like?"

            "Dark, misty.  I can't feel…" He shrugged it off.  "It's more like I'm asleep than anything else.  I have a question now."

            "All right," said Malik edgily.

            "When you said that you were in love with me, you were talking to 'him', weren't you?"

            Malik blushed.  As painful as it was to admit to the spirit himself, this was something else altogether.  "I…"

            Ryou smiled encouragingly.  "It'll feel better if you tell me, you know."

            "Okay," Malik nodded.  It was only fair.  "I was.  I do love him.  I think of him all the time, but it was so hard for me to say it..."

            "What's he like?"

            Malik blinked in surprise.  "What's he like?" he repeated.  "Um… he's…"  

            He drew in a breath.  "He's sarcastic.  Sharp-witted.  He has a tendency to play with spoons when he's bored.  He's kind of frightening if he's mad at you, but if you know him well, then you can tease him without getting killed.  He loves competition."  Malik smiled slightly.  "He has crimson eyes, but the same hair that you have.  He's… beautiful…"  He trailed off.

            "Sounds nice…"

            "But why are you here?" said Malik.  

            Ryou thought.  "I have a theory, but it may not have basis in fact," he warned.

            "Go ahead," said Malik.

            "Perhaps, when you were about to confess to him, he was so overwhelmed that his grip on my body weakened and I unconsciously took over," suggested Ryou.

            Malik began laughing.  "That would only happen if he actually felt something for me!"

            Ryou smiled.

            "…You think he does?"

            "I wouldn't know," said Ryou innocently.  "But have you done anything that would imply it?"

            An embarrassed pause.  "I kissed him."

            "And what happened?"

            "…He invited me here?"

            "There you go," said Ryou.

            _He couldn't possibly…?_

            _No…_

_            …why would he love me…?_

"I'm going to see if there's a way to get him back out here," said Ryou cheerfully, closing his eyes.

            "Wait-"

            The eyes opened again, the bright crimson that he loved so.

            "I'm back."


	7. Seven

**Clash**

by Lethe Seraph

**Chapter Seven: Drawing Nearer**

            I'm listening to 'Beloved' by VNV Nation. 

            It's pretty. ^____^

            Many thanks to everyone who has reviewed! ^___^

            I have decided that I am an official Semicolon Addict.  Heh heh heh.

            And special thanks for this chapter go out to those individuals who persuaded me to get my lazy self up and writing. ::grin:: You know who you are.

            It should end soon.  At least, that's what I'll keep telling myself.  It will end soon.  It will end soon… what?  Where'd that cliff come from? …Kidding, ha ha ha…

            Or am I? ^_~ Read on.

            --

            Oh, gods, God, I can't breathe.

            I…

            I don't know what to do anymore.

            If I had known things would turn out like this-

            What would I have done?

            What could I have done?

            I admit it to myself, readily now:

            I am in love.

            It's strange; I find it far more bizarre that I am in love with a male than that I am in love with a millennia-old _dead_ male.

            Bakura.

            Does it matter whether that is truly his name?

            So many names for the feeling I call love…

            …If I had known things would turn out like this…

            If I had…

            --

            Slowly, the eyes reopened; a new fire was alight within.  So familiar, alluring…

            His lips, lightly pink – beautiful – opened, shaped words.

            "I'm back."

            Malik managed to breathe out.  

            His chest felt constricted; a sharp pain invaded his head and wouldn't leave.  It was insistent – a bizarre, twisted form of the feeling he would normally recognize as thrill or excitement.  It was so much more demanding, though, he could hardly think for it.

            Love.

            How could he dream to speak when he could hardly breathe?  He was lightheaded, dizzy.  Bakura…

            In the end, all he could manage was a faint "Yeah."

            Bakura smirked slightly.  "No witty comment, Malik?"

            Breathe.  Just breathe. 

            "How much… how much did you hear?"

            "How much do you want me to have heard?"  His voice was intense.  Malik wondered whether the other Bakura could have been right in guessing that his feelings were returned.  No, it wasn't possible…

            …was it?

            Now was the time to tell him everything.  

            He just knew.

            "All of it," whispered Malik.  

            "Then that's what I heard," said Bakura lightly.  How could he be so flippant?  Maybe he hadn't really heard.

            "Bakura," said Malik.  "I said that I loved you."  

            Bakura smiled.

            Bakura was – he was smiling –!

            Malik stepped closer to the thief hesitantly.  "And… I want an answer.  Bakura."

            "You do, do you?"  The smile hadn't left his face.  He was playing with Malik now; the same old game.  Malik couldn't help but smile back for the nostalgia it evoked.  

            "Yes, I do."

            Bakura closed the distance between them and met Malik's eyes – ah, another glimpse of that crimson flame – bringing a hand to lightly touch Malik's cheek.  The tomb-keeper's heart raced and pounded painfully in its cage.

            Bakura spoke.

            "What will you give me for the answer?"

            Bakura: ever the thief, ever the cunning one, looking for a profit to be made.  Was that all?  His fingers were so slender.  Soft.

            A fallen angel…  

            Malik took Bakura's hand, eclipsing the pale skin with his own deep auburn tones and reveling in their difference.  He brought his other hand around Bakura's waist, pulling him yet closer.  _I wonder what we would look like to anyone else?_

_            Two boys, almost dancing…_

_            One about to get his heart broken…_

_            Maybe not today, though._

_            Maybe._

He hadn't pulled away yet.

            There was hope.

            "Myself," Malik answered.  The burning eyes danced and sparkled.

            _I wonder what will come tomorrow?_

_            Will I still be able to see him?_

_            This person that I love?_

He was afraid, true.

            But if Bakura loved him, then wouldn't that make it worth it?

            Wasn't a little risk all right?

            _I wonder…_

"Sounds good enough."

            "All right, then," said Malik, his voice seeming distant to him.  His mouth was dry.  Was he really that nervous?

            Hell, yes.

            "Malik, I-"

            That, of course, was when the phone rang.

             "-should probably get that."  Bakura grinned and pulled away.  Malik stifled the urge to groan.  Well, he was really enjoying himself, wasn't he?

            Of course.  Torturing Malik seemed only to be one of his favorite pastimes.

            Bakura's 'other' voice drifted in from the other room.  "Hello, Bakura sp- oh!  Oh… yes, I'm well… you?"  He laughed lightly.  "That's wonderful… what?  Ten minutes…?  No, no, I'm not holding any wild parties… all right.  See you then."

            "What was that?" said Malik when Bakura returned.

            "The host's father.  Apparently, he's back in Japan for a few days."

            "And he'll be here in about ten minutes," said Malik.

            "Didn't anyone ever tell you that eavesdropping wasn't nice?"

            "Who are you to talk?"

            "Anyway," said Bakura, "I don't think that you should be here when he arrives."

            "Ah."

            "So.  Tomorrow?"

            Malik smiled.  "Yeah.  But this time, you're paying."

            "We'll see about that."

            There was hope.

            And if Bakura didn't return his feelings, what then?

            If the other Bakura wasn't right, what would come?

            It didn't matter.

            Not today.


End file.
